Page 73 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
She picked at her breakfast, earning concerned glances from her aunt, who wisely did not press for conversation. Lydia chattered cheerfully about plans for the day with Georgiana,whilst Mary inquired about a book she had borrowed from Darcy’s library. The ordinary domesticity felt surreal against the turmoil in Elizabeth’s mind.
When Darcy’s carriage arrived to collect her for their morning walk—a habit they had fallen into over the last few weeks—Elizabeth could not find excitement in the prospect. She watched from the drawing room window as he approached the house, noting the spring in his step, the slight smile on his face. He appeared every inch the man who had begun to court her in earnest, not the cold calculating man Wickham had described.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said as he entered the room, his voice warm with affection. “You look rather pale this morning. I hope you are not unwell?”
“I am quite well, thank you.” The words came out more curtly than she intended, and she saw him pause.
“Perhaps we might speak privately?” she continued. “I have matters I wish to discuss with you.”
If her formal tone puzzled him, he gave no sign. “Of course. Shall we walk in the garden?”
The garden felt different in daylight, less sinister than it had the evening before. They walked in silence for several minutes before Elizabeth found the courage to speak.
“Mr Darcy, I must ask you about something that has come to my attention. Yesterday, I was approached by a Mr George Wickham.”
Darcy stopped walking so abruptly that Elizabeth took two more steps before realising he was no longer beside her. When she turned, his face had gone ashen.
“Wickham approached you?” His voice was tight with suppressed emotion. “What did he want?”
“He wished to inform me about your character,” Elizabeth said, watching his reaction. “He told me things… troubling things about your treatment of him, and others.”
Darcy’s jaw clenched. “What manner of things?”
Elizabeth forced herself to meet his eyes. “He claims you denied him a living that was promised to him by your father. That you have dismissed faithful servants from Pemberley for minor infractions. That Mr Bingley was present when you refused him the living a second time and did nothing to defend him.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Darcy turned away from her, his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders rigid with tension.
“I see,” he said finally. “And you believed him.”
It was not a question, and the quiet devastation in his voice made Elizabeth’s chest tighten. “I… I do not know what to believe.”
“I see.”
“I found it peculiar that you would never have told me about a man such as him, someone you have known from childhood. He said your father held him in high regard.”
“He did,” Darcy said through clenched teeth. “What else did he say?”
“That you refused to help him. That you cast him out. He… he said you told him he had made his choice and must live with the consequences.”
“Those were indeed my words,” Darcy said. “But the circumstances were rather different than he led you to believe.”
“Then tell me,” Elizabeth said, surprising herself with the urgency in her voice. “Tell me the truth.”
Darcy studied her face for a long moment. “You would believe my word over his?”
“I want to believe you,” Elizabeth said. “But I need to understand. If you are innocent of these charges, then why would he make such accusations? What could he possibly gain?”
“What evidence did he provide for these accusations?” Darcy asked.
Elizabeth hesitated, then reached into her reticule and withdrew the letters. “He gave me these. Letters from tenants you supposedly dismissed.”
Darcy took the papers with hands that trembled slightly with suppressed rage. As he read, his expression grew darker, and Elizabeth heard him mutter something under his breath that sounded distinctly uncomplimentary. He shook his head in disgust and thrust the letters into his coat pocket.
“These are fabrications,” he said coldly. “Complete and utter lies.”
“But they have names, dates—”
“Anyone can invent names and dates, Elizabeth. These are forgeries designed to deceive you.” His voice was growing sharper. “How did Wickham come to approach you? How did he know where to find you?”
